


Smell

by gramon-my-otp (Guichelove)



Series: Gramon Oneshots [2]
Category: Blur
Genre: Gramon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6779896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guichelove/pseuds/gramon-my-otp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt. Graham smells Damon's shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smell

**Author's Note:**

> YO! It's me, the same gramon-my-otp from tumblr. I am thinking about letting this website be my second base, and I would like to write about another fandoms. For now I will transcript some of my work to here. If you're new, you can also read my stuff at http://gramon-my-otp.tumblr.com/

Normally, Graham would go home after school, to practice scales on his new electric guitar, but not that day. He had to go to Ford Street, about 3 miles away from where he studied. A boy from his class, who he was friends with, lived there and invited him over. They were supposed to work on a song this friend had composed, because he needed a trumpet solo, and Graham played the trumpet.

As a matter of fact, they weren’t exactly friendly with each other before that. The first time they met was pretty frustrating. The boy had mocked Graham for wearing bad shoes. He used to mock everyone, in a selfish way. As years went by, nobody cared about the little bully and learned to ignore him. Funnily enough, Graham became his friend, only because they shared a great interest in music. The boy’s name was Damon, and he wrote poems and played the piano. By that time Damon was 15 and Graham was a year younger.

Graham rang the door bell. Damon’s mother answered and invited him in. She knew he was coming so she baked him some cookies and asked if he wanted anything to drink.

“I’d like a glass of milk, please”.

Mrs Albarn served him a glass of milk, while he grabbed some cookies. He thanked her, feeling a bit shy.

“Damon isn’t home yet, my dear. He went out to buy some groceries. He won’t take long”, she said, in a cheerful voice. “Feel as if you’re at home! You can wait at Damon’s bedroom if you want”.

Mrs Albarn explained where her son’s room was and then got back to the kitchen. The phone was ringing. Graham, as soon as he finished his snack, decided to explore the family home. He carried his trumpet bag with him to Damon’s room, and left it on the ground. The place was quite alright. Damon didn’t seem to be a complete lazy person. He was capable of keeping things in place, something impossible for Graham. Graham always made a mess and his bedroom was always cluttered.

Graham sat on Damon’s bed. He wondered if Damon let any smut hidden under it and stretched his hand, he ended up grabbing an used plain yellow shirt. He thought about handing it to Mrs Albarn, but before he had to make sure the piece was, in fact, dirty and smelly. Graham put the shirt close enough to his nose and sniffed it. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. It wasn’t even a bad smell. Damon had definitely wore that shirt long enough to make his scent linger. The only previous time he smelled Damon was when Graham was hugged by him, after knowing he had a talent for music.

Graham smelled the shirt again, this time burying his face in it. He felt good, but scared at the same time. He never thought he would fancy Damon or picture himself with him in an intimate way, just like he did with girls. It felt like tripping, to sense that manly smell. His sin was to be distracted. The house had three levels. Damon’s room was located below grade, and his window ground level, facing the wall of a pub. Graham took considerably long to notice his new friend taping on the glass. He tried hiding the shirt behind him as fast as he could, waving hello with the other hand, with cheeks red as pepper.

Damon was gesticulating and trying to say something, but no sound could get through the glass. Graham kept staring at him, looking confused. Learning he wasn’t being heard, Damon gestured with his hands flat, as if he was telling to wait where he was. All Graham could see afterwards was Damon’s feet and the wheels of his bike circulating the house and disappearing.

A few moments later Damon reappeared and entered the room. Graham had kicked the shirt back under the bed by then, but it was too late.

“Your mum said I could wait here”, he mumbled.

“Did she tell you to smell my clothes too?”, questioned Damon, making the visitor feel humiliated.

“I was just…”, he stammered, thinking about an excuse.“I was just trying to identify the detergent”.

“That’s it?”, Damon found Graham’s reaction odd. “You don’t have be nervous about a fucking detergent. You can ask mum later”.

Graham sighed and relaxed. Good thing Damon didn’t think he was a creep. The young host turned his back, walked out, and called for Graham:

“The piano is over here in the living room! C'mon, bring your saxophone, I don’t have the whole day!”


End file.
